When it arrives he drops $50 for a $15 tab. It’s a pretty nice tip. I wonder if he’s trying to impress the waitress or me.
CHAPTER 9
Monday comes quick and my face isn’t as resilient as I’d hoped. The guys from Balducci’s meat market really banged me up. I have a shiner that’s probably at its peak for drawing attention. It’s still swollen but the dark black-purple color has faded into a greenish tone.
The real trouble for me here at Kosher World is that everyone saw me spank this guy on Friday. He didn’t touch me, so how’d I get the black eye? After what happened on Friday, I should stay low. It’s really one of those times I should use my head and keep to myself, but I know I’m going to draw some attention.
Sal and Frank greet me when I walk in. They, of course, immediately spot my swollen eye and start looking me over. It’s weird. Normally these guys will rag on me, but they’re not. They’re kinda just biting their tongue.
Lately I’ve been having breakfast with Sal, Frank, Ramon and Sev. They go over the previous day’s production and map out targets for the upcoming day. I sit down next to Sal and Frank. Ramon walks over and sits across from me. Although they don’t mention my black eye, they are pretty complimentary about the fight on Friday.
Sev walks over and unwraps a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich that he bought from the silver truck outside. He’s got a jumbo coffee and dumps four packs of sugar into his cup. If the sugar and caffeine aren’t enough to get his system going, maybe I should offer him some jumper cables from my mother’s car. Before Sev sits down he hands me a spreadsheet and says, “Yo, Kevin, can you check on how much we got out of the hotdog room last night? The numbers can’t be right.”
“Sure, Sev.” No one is talking and they’re all looking at me. “Oh, you mean right now?”
“Yeah, I need the numbers.”
“Okay Sev, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” I leave my cereal and head over to the hotdog room.
Plenty of the guys are having a good time with me, but for the most part this whole ass whooping I took is helping me out. Some guys in the smokehouse tell me that they heard I got into a fight in a Forest Hills bar after winning my bout on Friday and that it happened after getting wasted at the Locomotive Breath. They think I’m some sick fuck. I just tell them that I won’t talk about it and don’t repeat that story if any cops ask any questions. And they’re like, “Holy shit! You must have fucked that guy up!” On one hand I want to stay low but on the other much more important hand, I can’t miss an opportunity to increase my status.
The hotdog room is in full swing. They started at 1 a.m. I figure the numbers can get screwed up pretty easy in here. At some point during the day, the big hotdog conveyer belt stops dead. They change the Kosher World packaging and insert another label into the machine. Magically out come the same hotdogs, except the packaging says Goldstein’s Finest. They sell the same damn hotdogs at 40 percent less. It’s a riot. Anyway, they probably got the numbers all confused, and Sev wants me to straighten it out.
Carl Gurdon is in charge of the hotdog room. Carl’s a thin guy, about 6’4”. Maybe he’s in his late 50s, but it’s hard to tell. He’s got that Lurch from “The Addam’s Family” look that makes him seem older than he is. His choppy German accent from the mother country doesn’t help him fit in either. Carl takes a lot of shit for being a “Nazi” playing with ovens in Kosher World. Carl always corners me in the cafeteria and tries to talk to me. He’s always trying to get me to help him straighten up his son.
I avoid the guy like gonorrhea, but sometimes he sneaks up and pins me. Old Carl gets an inch from my face and starts ranting. “My son was out all last night, he dropped out of school, and he won’t get a job. Look at you... you work, you go
CHAPTER 9
Monday comes quick and my face isn’t as resilient as I’d hoped. The guys from Balducci’s meat market really banged me up. I have a shiner that’s probably at its peak for drawing attention. It’s still swollen but the dark black-purple color has faded into a greenish tone.
The real trouble for me here at Kosher World is that everyone saw me spank this guy on Friday. He didn’t touch me, so how’d I get the black eye? After what happened on Friday, I should stay low. It’s really one of those times I should use my head and keep to myself, but I know I’m going to draw some attention.
Sal and Frank greet me when I walk in. They, of course, immediately spot my swollen eye and start looking me over. It’s weird. Normally these guys will rag on me, but they’re not. They’re kinda just biting their tongue.
Lately I’ve been having breakfast with Sal, Frank, Ramon and Sev. They go over the previous day’s production and map out targets for the upcoming day. I sit down next to Sal and Frank. Ramon walks over and sits across from me. Although they don’t mention my black eye, they are pretty complimentary about the fight on Friday.
Sev walks over and unwraps a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich that he bought from the silver truck outside. He’s got a jumbo coffee and dumps four packs of sugar into his cup. If the sugar and caffeine aren’t enough to get his system going, maybe I should offer him some jumper cables from my mother’s car. Before Sev sits down he hands me a spreadsheet and says, “Yo, Kevin, can you check on how much we got out of the hotdog room last night? The numbers can’t be right.”
“Sure, Sev.” No one is talking and they’re all looking at me. “Oh, you mean right now?”
“Yeah, I need the numbers.”
“Okay Sev, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” I leave my cereal and head over to the hotdog room.
Plenty of the guys are having a good time with me, but for the most part this whole ass whooping I took is helping me out. Some guys in the smokehouse tell me that they heard I got into a fight in a Forest Hills bar after winning my bout on Friday and that it happened after getting wasted at the Locomotive Breath. They think I’m some sick fuck. I just tell them that I won’t talk about it and don’t repeat that story if any cops ask any questions. And they’re like, “Holy shit! You must have fucked that guy up!” On one hand I want to stay low but on the other much more important hand, I can’t miss an opportunity to increase my status.
The hotdog room is in full swing. They started at 1 a.m. I figure the numbers can get screwed up pretty easy in here. At some point during the day, the big hotdog conveyer belt stops dead. They change the Kosher World packaging and insert another label into the machine. Magically out come the same hotdogs, except the packaging says Goldstein’s Finest. They sell the same damn hotdogs at 40 percent less. It’s a riot. Anyway, they probably got the numbers all confused, and Sev wants me to straighten it out.
Carl Gurdon is in charge of the hotdog room. Carl’s a thin guy, about 6’4”. Maybe he’s in his late 50s, but it’s hard to tell. He’s got that Lurch from “The Addam’s Family” look that makes him seem older than he is. His choppy German accent from the mother country doesn’t help him fit in either. Carl takes a lot of shit for being a “Nazi” playing with ovens in Kosher World. Carl always corners me in the cafeteria and tries to talk to me. He’s always trying to get me to help him straighten up his son.
I avoid the guy like gonorrhea, but sometimes he sneaks up and pins me. Old Carl gets an inch from my face and starts ranting. “My son was out all last night, he dropped out of school, and he won’t get a job. Look at you... you work, you go
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